


banana pancakes

by soldmyscars



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ALL FLUFF, M/M, PWP, Praise Kink, Size Difference, i'm gonna go with AU here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 18:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4532601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldmyscars/pseuds/soldmyscars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mickey is trying very hard to make pancakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	banana pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> i suck! i haven't posted anything in forever! everything i write lately turns into garbage!
> 
> anyway, i was listening to banana pancakes by jack johnson and somehow this happened. i just wanted to write a domestic, fluffy thing where mickey made ian breakfast but then it spun out of control and didn't turn into that at all.

Ian comes up behind Mickey and wraps his arms around his waist. He kisses the side of Mickey's neck, nuzzling at him and breathing him in. The air smells good, but Mickey smells even better. Ian hooks his chin over Mickey's shoulder, peering down into the frying pan and smiling dopily when Mickey turns his head, their cheeks brushing together. "Whatcha cookin', good lookin?" he asks lowly.

"The fuck does it look like?" Mickey says. He's so sassy in the morning. "Banana pancakes."

Ian growls playfully, pressing his hips flush against Mickey's ass. "I'll give you a banana for your pancakes, short stack."

Mickey makes a spluttering noise, face turning pink. It's delicious. "Maybe I don't want your fucking _banana_ ," he huffs.

"Yes you do," Ian says, one hand sliding beneath Mickey's t-shirt to caress his stomach. Mickey's skin jumps a little under his touch, and Ian's grin turns into a smirk. His hand slides up higher, thumb brushing across a nipple. He feels Mickey's breath hitch, and then resume slightly faster than before. 

"Nope," Mickey insists, stubborn. He flips one of the pancakes, the surface golden brown and fluffy. 

"No?" Ian says. He shuffles his bare feet forward on the tile, closer to Mickey's, and rolls his hips slowly. His morning wood is prominent, happier the further it nudges in between Mickey's plump cheeks. The soft cotton barrier between them is thin.

Ian's rewarded when Mickey presses his ass back into him. "Don't call me short stack," he mutters, still blushing.

"But I like it," Ian argues. "And you call me names all the time. Why can't I have one for you, huh?" 

He hasn't stopped rubbing across Mickey's nipple, little circles. It's stiff. Ian loves Mickey's nipples; they're so fucking sensitive. His index finger creeps up to join his thumb. He plucks, and then pinches, hard.

Mickey drops the spatula. "Ian, fuck!"

Heat shoots down Ian's stomach, flooding it with warmth. Mickey is always so damn responsive. Even when he's trying to resist. _Especially_ then. Ian chuckles. "Mmm. I like that the best." He moves to the other nipple and starts teasing it too. "Say it again."

Mickey swallows and picks up the fallen spatula, fumbling a little as he scoops up one of the pancakes and flips it onto the waiting plate. "Fuck you is what you like the best," he replies, like he's not arching his back, not pushing his chest up into Ian's fingers _and_ grinding against Ian's cock, Ian's hipbones digging into his ass. 

The pancakes start to smoke, burning on the bottom. Neither of them notice.

"More like fuck _you_ ," Ian points out, pushing forward when Mickey pushes back. The hand not busy abusing Mickey's nipples moves down to cup him through his boxers, squeezing. He's more than smug at what he finds.

Mickey's head drops back onto Ian's shoulder as he grabs Ian's forearm. His hands are smaller than Ian's, though when they're curled into fists they're two times stronger. Ian loves making them lose control, loves when they lose the ability to fight, to do nothing but hang on to him. "Ian," Mickey growls.

Ian pulls the elastic waistband down over Mickey's cock, freeing it. It springs up, red at the tip and gorgeous. Ian looks down at it over Mickey's shoulder. "Yeah, baby," Ian breathes, taking it in his hand and giving it a slow stroke. "You can have it."

Mickey let's out a noisy breath, almost a whine. "Turn off the fucking stove, then, and give it to me already."

Ian slips his hand out of Mickey's shirt immediately and turns the element off. 

Mickey turns around and grabs his face, kissing him hard. Ian can't help but notice Mickey has to rise up onto the balls of his feet to reach him. Ian shoves Mickey's boxers down the rest of the way and cups his ass, lifting him a little higher, that perfect, fat roundness filling his palms, until Mickey's right on his toes. 

The move brings Mickey's body against him, and makes Mickey's naked cock rub against his clothed one. With sudden urgency, Ian backs Mickey up to the edge of the counter, tilting his head down and fucking Mickey's open mouth with his tongue, and Mickey takes it. When they break apart Mickey already knows what Ian is going to do, wants it just as much. He jumps when Ian tenses his arms to lift him onto the counter. Once he's up, Ian grabs Mickey's knees and pushes his legs apart, forcing Mickey to lean back and brace his hands on the counter. Ian looks at him.

Mickey's mouth is open, pink and wet, breaths coming out in soft pants. He has color high on his cheeks and he's staring back at Ian with blown eyes, that pretty ice blue swallowed almost entirely by his pupils. His cock is hard and curving up towards his stomach. He's already leaking, pre-come leaving a dark, sticky smear on the fabric of his shirt, staining it.

Ian palms himself slowly, watching as Mickey's eyes dart down to follow the movement. When he licks his lips, Ian pushes his boxers down. He feels a thrill, because Mickey's dick twitches, like just seeing Ian's cock is giving him a physical sensation. He wonders if Mickey's thinking about it fucking him, or if he's thinking about sucking it, on his knees.

Ian steps closer and Mickey's thick thighs close around his hips. He tightens them eagerly, his ass barely on the counter anymore. He looks like he wants to wrap his arms around Ian's shoulders, too, but he doesn't. He's still holding back.

Their cocks slide against each other, hot, pulsing. Ian's exhales sharply, and Mickey's breath stutters on an inhale. Mickey wraps his hand around them. His fingers aren't long enough to cover them both, but his grip is firm. 

His cock is smaller than Ian's, too - lined up like this the size difference is obvious. Ian finds himself even more turned on because of it. It's kind of ridiculous, because as Mickey starts jacking them, struggling to keep his hand around them, all Ian is thinking about is how fucking _cute_ he is.

Mickey's biting his lip now, though, and looking a little annoyed, frustrated like he wishes he could do it better. The _F U C K_ on his knuckles almost desperate, like a plea. 

"Lemme help you," Ian says, closing his hand around Mickey's, around them. His hand covers Mickey's almost entirely, and creates double the pressure when he squeezes and starts guiding their hands up and down.

Mickey is strangely quiet, not tense or defiant or arguing, just giving himself over to Ian.

Ian leans in, lips brushing Mickey's ear. "Good boy," he murmurs, and Mickey shivers, free arm sliding around Ian's shoulders, hanging on to him. "So good," he repeats. "Perfect." And Mickey's blunt nails dig into his skin as he makes a soft noise, like a wounded animal.

"Faster," Mickey gasps, and then, "Please?"

Ian shudders, almost coming just from the word. He makes them go faster. Mickey moans, loud this time, and Ian buries his face in Mickey's neck, kissing his pulse, sucking a mark onto it. The wetness of Mickey's pre-come is slicking the way, and now Ian's is too, making obscene slick sounds between them, in the quiet of their tiny kitchen. Mickey's toes curl tightly, pressed against the backs of Ian's legs.

"Want you to fuck me," Mickey pants, and Ian groans. "Want to be filled, your cock in me."

"Want that too," Ian sighs. "Want to fill you, feel you." He lifts his head, and Mickey does too, loosening his hold only enough so their mouths can meet, connecting. _Love you,_ Ian adds silently.

They don't actually end up fucking, because at that moment they both spill. Mickey trembles through his orgasm, spurting over Ian's cock and their fingers, and Ian follows after him, kissing him through the aftershocks and gradually letting go.

When they can't kiss anymore, too out of breath, Mickey pulls away. Ian let's him, but doesn't go anywhere yet. Mickey wipes his hand off on his shirt, and then looks up at Ian from under his lashes. "...Guess I did want the banana," he finally admits, and Ian laughs, startled. Mickey grins in response.

**Author's Note:**

> eta: i also may or may not regret not naming this fic 'i want the b'


End file.
